Why Survive When You Can Live?
by Nuntii Fata
Summary: A horrible mistake causes the disruption of peace in the world. What will be the result?
1. Prologue

Authors' Note: this is a joint fan-fiction between AngelofStyx and Ecarus. First chapter: how exciting! We can't wait to see how it's going to go. We will likely update every other week, but do not hold us to it! Neither of us own Hetalia, and this will hold true throughout the story.  
>Warnings for this chapter include: language, violence<p>

Hundreds of people were sitting in a brightly lit auditorium, 'listening' to a blonde-haired man deliver his report at the wooden podium beside the unused projector screen. At the moment, he was saying, "… my boss is calling for a meeting with America and Russia about the growing hostilities between them…"

Most of the people in this room were not listening to the important facts that the blonde German was stating. Some of the members were sleeping, others fighting, and still more talking amongst themselves. This was slowly angering the uptight man, but he forced himself to remain calm with great difficulty.

All and all, this was a regular meeting. However, there was an undercurrent of hostility between some of the countries that had not been seen for a number of years. Switzerland and Austria refused to even look at each other. Latvia and Estonia were arguing quietly, and Greece was sleeping by himself in the corner of the room. Also, America was glaring at Russia with an animosity that hadn't been seen for almost 150 years.

Still others were glancing in confusion at the apparently empty seat near the front of the room. They could have sworn that there was someone was sitting there, but for the life of them they could not tell who he was. Some of them would swear that the seat was empty, if it wasn't for the fact that there were _never_ empty seats. Others would startle themselves by seeing a person there only out of the corner of their eyes, but when they would turn to look, the seat would be empty. A few more were looking at the brown-haired man in confusion, not understanding who or what he was.

At the front of the room, the German completed his speech and finished the meeting, deciding that if people could not be bothered to listen to him, they certainly would not listen to anyone else. Most of the nations tried leaving the room as quickly as possible, resulting in a huge pile-up with everyone yelling at each other.

"Get out of my way you bloody frog!"

"Non, it ez you who should back off!"

"DAMMIT UK I HAVE TO GO HOME! STOP BLOCKING THE DAMN _DOOR_!"

"I'm gonna miss my dramas!"

"Germany, Germany, veh veh! I can't find my pasta!"

"My suit! You potato bastard... You made my brother ruin my fucking suit!"

"No it's not. What would Franz Joseph say?"

"DUDE, _NOBODY_ CARES ABOUT FRANZ JOSEPH! JUST GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!"

During this kerfuffle, some of the quieter people decided it would be a better use of their time to just wait until the others had left before making their exit. For instance the black-haired Japanese man was waiting beside the door and Greece was still asleep. For his part, Russia was staring at the mess the hurried countries had made of themselves with a smile on his face.

Eventually the crowd got through the door and the room was empty. After the Russian left, a man with a bear stood up with a sigh. He turned off the lights and locked the doors to the auditorium, then walked off down the hallway, out the door, and into his hotel.

A brown-haired man walked into a bar a few blocks down from the hotel. His flight was not leaving for another day, so he had some time to kill before heading to the airport. He was by himself; the other countries did not invite him to go with them to the restaurant, and frankly he was glad not to be going. It wasn't as if he particularly wanted to be there.

He sat down at the bar, which was relatively busy for the early hour of the evening. The bartender asked for his order, and the other replied in Russian, but with a slight accent, that he wanted a beer. And so he sat for the next while as the bar grew busier, ordering more alcohol as he finished each tankard.

It was very late at night, or rather very early morning when Russia walked in. At a glance, he did not appear drunk, but he smelled very strongly of vodka. He sat a few seats down from the other country without glancing at him once, although truthfully he was concealed by a rather energetic group of very drunk, young adults.

Deciding that the Russian man's presence was not very important so long as he didn't bother him, the brown haired man ordered another beer. Once he drained that one, he decided that he had had enough for the night. He stood up without so much as a drunken sway, much to the shock of the bartender who had been expecting the need to send the man to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. While walking out the door, the Russian man spotted him and his eyes narrowed. Waiting until the other was outside and a few miles away from the bar, he stood up and followed the other silently.

It was dark. The moonless cloudy sky offered no illumination so the only source of light came from the few street lamps that dotted the path. The figure of the brown-haired man could be seen faintly in the distance.

Drawing his lead pipe from his coat, Russia walked silently yet rapidly towards the man. The crunch of gravel on the path alerted the brown-haired nation to the Russian's presence. Glancing back, he saw him only an arm's length away with the lead pipe raised to strike. The nation barely started screaming when the other hit him on the head.

There was a sickening thump, and he fell to the ground. The wound was bleeding profusely, staining his once-brown hair crimson. Russia picked up the man like he was a doll and tossed him over his shoulder without care for the bruises he was surely causing the other. He walked back to the hotel and into the full parking lot, found his black car, and tossed the other into the trunk. He then proceeded to get into his own seat and drive away, back to his abode in the far-off outskirts of the city.

After a while the car stopped. The only light present died as it turned off at the end of the driveway. Even though he was in complete darkness, Russia had no trouble in extracting the man from the trunk and carrying him into the house.

The blood from the unconscious man's head slowly dripped onto the carpet as he was carried through the long hallways lined with wooden panels and depictions of Russian masterpieces. Unlocking a very thick steel door with its five keys, Russia reached the staircase to the basement. He walked down the stairs, careful not to trip during this steep descent. At the bottom he pulled a cord. Suddenly, the room was illuminated with a bare, incandescent light.

Walking deeper into the maze-like dungeon, Russia placed the man down inside a cell that was quite a distance from the door. There was a toilet, a sink, a ledge in the middle of the wall directly across from the door, a cot attached to the top of that ledge, and metal rings at each corner. The brown-haired man was put down here, and he was not in very good condition. His wound continued to bleed slowly, matting his hair with blood. He was also quite pale.

Not wishing for his captive to die just yet, Russia left the room to retrieve a first-aid kit. He disinfected and bound the wound with practised ease, and then left the room to retrieve more devices. He was gone for quite a long time, but soon enough he returned with his objects: handcuffs, a gag, and several other strange things. He didn't want his little captive to escape or make a nuisance of himself after all.


	2. Chapter 1

Recap:

Not wishing for his captive to die just yet, Russia left the room to retrieve a first-aid kit. He disinfected and bound the wound with practiced ease, and then left the room to retrieve more devices. He was gone for quite a long time, but soon enough he returned with his objects: handcuffs, a gag, and several other strange things. He didn't want his little captive to escape or make a nuisance of himself after all.

Many hours later the brown-haired man still had not awoken. The Russian man did not seem too perturbed by this, and continued to sit on a small wooden stool that he had brought in shortly after retrieving the other objects.

One might have thought the sight of Russia perched on a little stool amusing had it not been so terrifying. His aura of menace permeated the air even as he smiled at the captive handcuffed to the bed. Perhaps it was the eyes; the violet orbs had a coldness to them that spoke of years spent in sorrow and acts of cruelty, but at the same time they were empty of expression. The man's mind was clearly not on watching the unconscious captive.

Nonetheless, when the captive began to stir, the Russian immediately noticed. He watched in amusement as the focus of his attention awoke. Moving his hand sleepily to shield his eyes from the light that emanated from the sole, incandescent bulb, the brown-haired man immediately jumped into awareness when he realized that he was unable to move.

"So you're finally awake, yes?" I said to America with a smile. The little idiot tried to speak but his eyes widened in delicious fear when he realized that he could not.

I started to pace slowly around the ledge. His eyes tried to follow my movements, I noticed in amusement. Deciding that he was not scared enough, I started to speak in a voice filled with false brightness, "Don't you love your new room America? Perfect for the little fool who decided to wander around by himself at night."

At my words, America's eyes widened and he began to shake his head. I ignored this, without a pause in my speech.

"I saw this, and I couldn't allow a little weakling like you wander around by yourself. It isn't safe; your enemies might just decide to launch a surprise attack on you. So I took you back here and now you don't have to worry about anyone finding you!"

The fool was trying to speak through the gag; like I was going to allow his grating voice to insult me… as if it could change anything about the situation.

"But for this protection you are going to have to pay me back. I don't help weaklings for nothing after all."

I smiled even brighter as I said this. He had frozen, realizing the gravity of the situation with a speed I was impressed with.

"So, how shall you pay me back? Hmm, I think Alaska might be good compensation, yes? But no, I don't think it is quite enough."

I was only saying this to intimidate him. I already knew what I wanted.

"How about you surrender your Antarctic oil reserves, and acknowledge that you were at fault during this dispute?"

America started to shake his head rapidly, and his eyes were pleading. It was as if the upstart was trying to convey a message.

"No? Pity… maybe I shall have to teach you about what happens to those who defy me?"

I slid my lead pipe from the compartment in my sleeve and into my hand. Leaning it up against the wall, I decided that I would save _that_ treatment for later. I removed a knife from another compartment in my coat. With twenty centimetres of razor sharp blade and a hilt that looked as if it was covered in human skin, I knew it looked terrifying. I put the blade underneath the collar of his woolen red sweater and sliced down the garment until I was able to remove the now unrecognizable pieces of fabric.

"It wasn't a good idea for you to come dressed in the colors of your flag America. So obnoxious… Such a target for those who seek revenge."

I wondered momentarily why his clothes only had the colors blue and red, but I soon put the matter out of my mind.

"Such a weak-looking chest for a self-proclaimed hero and one of the biggest countries in the world. I suppose your boasting was just that, boasting. Talking and eating do not build muscle, so this is probably natural as that is all you do."

At this point I was actually lying, but telling the truth would not really humiliate him after all. He was quite muscular, but was nothing compared to me. There were a couple of cuts oozing blood where my hand had 'accidentally' slipped with the knife.

"Maybe you need a message, to remind yourself of what you truly are when you are boasting? Weakling, upstart, failure, thief… They all apply, don't they? Or perhaps whore? I've heard France mentioning the aid he lent in exchange for some of your services in the past. You are certainly entertaining yourself with another whore these days. Gilbert was always such a fun one to have in my house, particularly as he did not break. I wonder how much weaker you are than your little boyfriend?"

My smile widened as I saw the weak exclamation of denial that America was trying to send to me.

"Now, now… We all know this is true America. You are only a colony after all, and it is only natural. There is only one colony that this doesn't apply to, one that is so much better than you are."

I ran the blunt slide of the blade over his chest lightly and he stiffened. I laughed lightly, "I won't mark you quite yet, consider it something to look forward to later! Now don't move, unless you feel like gaining some interesting scars."

This false brightness was something I knew would terrify him, and I was not disappointed. I slid the blade under the waistband of his jeans and sliced. Within a few minutes strips of denim littered the floor and the only remaining clothing was his black boxers.

Studying his mostly naked body, I acknowledged that the weakling was attractive. I pulled out the glasses that had fallen off when I retrieved him, and perched them on his nose. I wanted him to clearly see what I was doing, after all.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_! Why is this happening?_

I noticed when America's breathing quickened. The little coward is panicking already?

I looked over to the items that I brought with me, piled haphazardly in the corner. None of them were what I wanted to use though.

I turned around, walked over to the door, and left the room.

"I'm back. Did you miss me?" I said with a fake smile as I walked back into the cell. Observing my captive for a few moments, I noticed that he was shivering slightly, which made sense considering his lack of clothing.

"The little hero is cold, yes?"

I walked over and touched his upper arm slightly. He flinched.

"And scared. Not much of a hero, are you?"

He started to shake his head in denial. I slapped him across the face. The sharp sound of skin hitting skin echoed against the walls of the cell, and America's flesh almost immediately began to redden. It was most certainly going to leave a bruise.

"Don't you dare deny it. You always try to run from war, then claim credit later. You disgust me."

I breathed in sharply to reign in my flaring temper, then shut my eyes and slowly exhaled. As I reopened them, I schooled a look of coldness onto my face.

"I thought you realised what you were dealing with. I was clearly mistaken."

_That was _not _what I meant!_

I dug the blunt side of the blade into his stomach, and was vindicated by the look of pain that crossed his face. I taunted, "The hero can't handle a little pain? Useless coward, you don't even deserve the air you breathe."

I discarded the blade, leaving the flesh that it was pressing into a reddish slit that soon regained its regular pallor. My hand moved up his chest and onto his neck.

"It would be so easy for me to strangle you right now... but the time isn't quite right, not yet. Killing you now would not leave any lasting benefit, seeing as I am not actually invading your country."

I squeezed tightly for ten seconds then loosened my grip.

"Besides, if I killed you now I will have merely wasted my energy."

I wanted to be able to have some fun after all.


	3. Chapter 2

Authors note:

This is Ecarus. I want to apologize for something that was incorrect in the previous chapters. As a reviewer pointed out, Canada's hair is blonde, not brown. In the future I will not say that his hair is brown.

The reason why I called it this is that I think that, in the anime, Canada's hair seems too dark to be considered blonde. AngelofStyx disagrees with me about this, and according to the Hetalia wiki this is incorrect. I still consider it brown but I can see it being thought of as either dirty blonde or very light brown. I know this seems stupid but it is just how it looks to me.

As my indents I made last time have disappeared, I am trying to use _ instead. If this seems annoying to you tell me, I will not use them again.

Also my lines in between scenes disappeared in the last two. I apologize if that made it difficult to read.

Characters will likely seem out of character. 

*~*~*~*~*~

_Recap:_

__"It would be so easy for me to strangle you right now... but the time isn't quite right, not yet. Killing you now would not leave any lasting benefit, seeing as I am not actually invading your country."_

__I squeezed tightly for ten seconds then loosened my grip._

__"Besides, if I killed you now I will have merely wasted my energy."_

__I wanted to be able to have some fun after all._

*~*~*~*~*~

_It was night once again. Russia had left his captive several hours before, only to go to his room and crash onto his bed. He was still wearing his cloak smeared with fresh blood and... other substances.

_When his clock beeped at 23:00 hours, Russia was sleeping lightly enough for it to wake him up. He jolted up into awareness and blinked several times in confusion. The first thing that he noticed was his throbbing head, and he sat holding it for a few minutes, thinking.

_He mused to him, "Just how much did I drink yesterday... I haven't gotten a hangover for years!"

_Russia looked down at his clothing and shook his head. He asked himself, _ "Hmm... What did I do this time? I didn't plan this."

_He smiled, but it was not one that indicated happiness. More like the anticipation of something one cannot avoid. Speaking aloud to the empty room, he stated, "My boss will be most displeased, yes?"

_Muttering to himself, Russia went to get changed and shower. At each sign on his body of his actions the previous night, he became more reserved. He did not have any memory of his actions, and knew from previous occurrences that he would need to see what he did before remembering. Regardless, it was not likely that he would be able to get away from this unscathed.

_After about fifteen minutes he was finished and walked out into the pitch-dark hallway with his still damp hair and beige trench coat. Turning on the light to see in more detail than his superb night vision allowed, he searched up and down the hallway for any traces of his actions.

_When he found none, Russia walked into the main hallway. He saw the small drops of blood on the carpet and noticed that they seemed to be travelling in the direction of his basement. He followed them, knowing that that room was where he conducted the very worst of his actions.

_Russia stood before his basement door for a few moments, and then attempted to open it. It was unlocked.

_ "Well... That was not a good idea." He said to himself.

_He walked down the stairs and followed the few blood drops to a cell. Looking through the small window, he saw his bloody handiwork of a few hours prior and remembered. Remembered bringing America to the limits of survival, degrading him, ruining him...

_ "Yes, this will start a war."

_ After a few moments spent lost in his thoughts he steeled himself, unlocked the door to the cell, and entered the room.

*~*~*~*~*~

_ awoke to the unpleasant sensation of having a tube being pushed gently down my throat. At this I jolted upright, causing my vision to blur and black out before returning after an instant.

_The momentary glimpse of the room was more than enough to tell me where I was, in the room where _he_ took me. And strangely enough, it was where I was currently being treated (if the fresh bandages were anything to go by). It was odd. I had been expecting to either be killed when I lost consciousness or tossed out into the garbage.

_ After being lost in these thoughts for a few minutes, I realised that Russia was talking to me in English with that accent of his.

_ "... Since you have last eaten so I was setting up the tube so you did not starve, but now you can feed yourself yes?"

_ He stopped, and the arrogant fool thought I was going to answer. Like I was going to eat any of _his_ food; I hate him.

_Setting down the bowl in front of me, he retreated to his chair in the corner. I sat unmoving for a few moments, assessing my physical condition. I was thankful that I was no longer naked, but I felt a bit disappointed that my favourite sweater was ruined and in it's place were boring black pyjamas. I was quick to realise that I was much too injured to fight him, even with the assumption that he was not going to fight back.

_ And everything hurt as well. My wrists were obviously badly skinned by the handcuffs, and quite a bit of flesh on my chest and stomach was enduring the agony of knife and burn wounds. There were bruises forming all over my body, with the worst of them currently forming on my face. The self-disgust I was experiencing was far worse than any of those pains though.

_ The fact that I was... used by him was the worst reality of them all. The pain _there_ was constantly forcing that part of my memory to loop through my head. I would have thrown up if there had been anything in my stomach.

_ As it were, I knew that I had to eat something. I had not eaten anything since the small lunch I had consumed during the mid-day break of the world conference. So I picked up the mush (or was it soup?) that he had given to me and slowly started to eat the contents of the bowl.

_ When I had finished, I set the bowl down beside me and my anger began to rise.

*~*~*~*~*~

_ I watched as my captive sat still for a full minute, seemingly lost in thought. When he finally moved to eat his soup it was almost startling. America ate excruciatingly slowly, and I was surprised that he was not complaining about wanting different food. Maybe the foolish nation had finally learned something.

_ After he finished his bowl, he spoke. His words were much too quiet to hear, but I could see the anger on his face. His face... there was something weird about it, something not quite right.

_ He spoke again, quietly, but not so silently that I could not hear it. He said, "How dare you?"

_ I froze and stared at him, refusing to break eye contact.

_ He repeated this, getting louder and louder until his voice was a roar and screamed, "HOW _DARE_ YOU!"

_ At this he stood up and threw his bowl at me. It shattered but fell harmlessly to the ground. All this time I was silent, smiling slightly, and internally confused about the things that were not quite right about America.

_ America's diatribe was not finished with that statement. He continued to scream, "DID YOU EVEN BOTHER? BOTHER TO _FUCKING_ CHECK? OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T, YOU..."

_ At this I interrupted him. This screaming brownish-blonde haired man was not America, unless he had suddenly changed. His eyes were different for one, violet instead of blue. How could I have missed that with all the time I spent looking into them? And his voice did not have the same irritating edge that never failed to make him sound obnoxious. I said, "Who are you? You are not America, yes, but you are a country. I don't recognise you."

_ At this the America look-alike stopped speaking, but the expression on his face was more than just angry. It was frightening, or at least would frighten the average person. He glared at me then said in a cold voice, "You honestly do not know who I am? You are a fool, just like everybody else in this world. If you had even bothered to check my passport, which was in the back pocket of my jeans before you shredded them, you would know."

_ He sat down, wincing in pain, and crossed his arms, glaring at me all the while. Once he was settled he continued his statement, saying, "Is it really that hard to figure out who I am? I am a member of the G8. I have made several significant contributions to the world. But not only that, I am one of the largest countries, right after you in fact. So why do you forget who I am?"

_I was a bit disturbed by this. His eyes were terrifying, staring through me as if I were insignificant. He was even scarier than Belarus.  
>_"This is not even the first time you refused to acknowledge my existence. Remember sitting on me many years ago?"<p>

_ I responded blankly, "No, I don't..."

_ "I didn't think so," he interrupted, "do you have even the slightest idea of who I am?"

_ I shook my head slowly, not exactly sure of how I should respond to this.

_ "Fool," the blonde man stated, "I am Canada."


End file.
